The first time I visited Eden Garden State Park
I didn’t know it would become my middle ground.
I didn’t know that after each blood work, medical scrutiny, and procedure
I would be leaving my doctor’s appointment wearing a cloak of sorrow.
I didn’t know I would be catapulted from one extreme to the next:
from the softness of my couch to the stiffness of a hospital chair.
I didn’t know that in between the solemn faces of my doctors
and smiling faces of my children, I would need a middle ground.
I didn’t know a place could be a friend.
Eden Garden was like a sagacious companion –
the companion you call in a frenzy, but when you hear their voice of reason it seeps into you.
Their calm confidence surrounds you, and all of a sudden your breathing again.
You’re hoping again. You’re not falling apart alone.
So…
I drove down US98 and made a left turn.
I passed a dilapidated red barn on my right and turned left again.
In front of me, a canopy of Sand Pine and Live Oak trees opened its door and welcomed me in.
I turned my radio off, wind my window down, and listened to nature’s chorus:
the rustling of leaves on the ground, the songs of Cardinals atop, and the breeze caressing the legs of trees.
In the park, I wanted to climb the Grand Live Oaks so that I can be closer to the sky.
I wanted to go au naturel and bathe in the fountain, but instead,
I strolled through the labyrinth rose garden and traipsed beneath pink Camellias in full bloom.
I inhaled-
I smelled them before I saw them.
And like a child, I placed my hand in the hands of the universe and let her lead me to the gardenias.
♥
Kadine Christie
